Simple Pleasures
by plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: Finding peace is sometimes as easy as looking across the dinner table. [Established Saito/Sano]


HAPPY SAISA DAY!

Let's celebrate with some ridiculous domestic fluff. Since this time last year, I've fallen deep into the black hole of Shinsengumi hell and all I want is for Saito to find happiness in the Meiji. Even if he won't admit it. lol

This story is gifted to kuroiyousei for being fab.

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 **.*Simple Pleasures*.**

Even after leading a life governed by frugality, it was still sometimes strange how the simple things could be so satisfying. Things like…steam rising from a hot cup of Sencha, the scent of newspaper print pressed that morning, slow-burning tobacco in hand at the end of a long day, covertly observing Sagara Sanosuke gorging on dinner across the table…

That last particular was something Saito had always found mildly amusing, if not increasingly curious. He'd never believed himself a culinary authority; cooking was simply a task that required doing, and extraneous effort had never been applied to enhance what mundane meals he found himself capable of. Yet, seated across the way and separated by sustenance arranged in no elegant manner, was a man who scarfed down the dishes as if every repast they shared would be his final one.

It wasn't flattery. Sano had a specific definition of what he considered palatable and wasn't afraid to vocalize it…something he'd proven well enough by countless instances of dragging Kamiya Kaoru's apparent lack of talent in the area. Though his heart was pure, he often wore it on his sleeve and remained audacious not just in combat but all facets of life. Sano was the kind of brazen individual who would contribute nothing to the meal, eat his fill, and complain directly to Kaoru's face—then take his leave and still run his mouth to Saito about it afterward.

He was as impertinent as he was honest, qualities that surprised no one privileged enough to know Sano personally. But that wouldn't prevent Saito from making a helpful, logical suggestion every so often.

It was several days back when he'd been going about his business preparing their own dinner for the evening, as the rain of _Jou-chan criticism_ fell once more. While stirring a soup base over the fire, Saito had decided that then was the proper time to offer a dose of that classic insight and after an airy sigh, declared, "Perhaps instead of incessantly complaining, you should simply learn to cook for yourself."

"Yeah, _no_." Glancing up from where he'd stood chopping vegetables, Sano's gaze followed as Saito neared. "That'd only mess up this perfect thing we got goin' on here! I chop, you do whatever you do over there to make it all taste great." He lifted the knife and a grin pulled at his cheeks. "This, I don't mind 'cause I'm good at it, but when it comes to measuring and combining shit, well…"

"Speaking of what you think your talents are..." After having stalked up directly behind him, Saito reached around and placed his hands over Sano's. The disparity in their heights allowed them to fit together flawlessly in this configuration, and peering over a shoulder, Saito moved the position of the blade closer to the end of the carrot. "Smaller pieces. Like this."

Pointed taps of metal thudding against wood filled the space as Saito had continued guiding Sano's movements. There'd been a powerful sense of intimacy in the act, being entwined in such a way and Sano trusting Saito enough to dictate the motion of his hands with a sharp knife. In fact, his confidence was so great that Sano hadn't even been paying attention to what was happening on the cutting board, choosing instead to lean back into the pseudo embrace and turn his face slightly.

"See?" The response emanated like a soft purr in contrast to the sharp sounds of chopping. "I can put up with Jou-chan's scraps if this is what I get to look forward to." A pause followed and his eyes fell half-lidded before adding in a murmur, "…Worth it."

Whether Sano was alluding to the closeness they shared then or the flavor of this kitchen's meals—or both—Saito hadn't been sure. What he'd been positive of, however, was that the argument about manners and gratitude and social correctness _could_ have been prolonged, but his nose's proximity to thick brown hair had inundated him with a most pleasantly distracting scent. Reveling in that, coupled by the juxtaposition which had left Sano flush up against Saito, was far more agreeable than continuing a pointless lecture that would only fall on deaf ears.

Yes, what had always mattered most was that Sano felt good in Saito's arms, like he'd been made to fit in them and always belonged there. And maybe he had; the winding road of fate worked in mysterious ways. After all, Saito had for too long walked an endless, rugged path of bloodshed and honor with no room for anyone at his side.

Still, somehow, the same trail had led him to that very moment in his kitchen, rife with those pleasures so simple and too oft taken for granted: cutting vegetables for a dinner for two and enjoying the nearness that came from moments spent with one deeply treasured.

And _had_ Saito come to treasure this unruly man pressed against him. The carrot had been sufficiently cut by then, resting in a pile of thin medallions on the board, but his hands still remained upon Sano's.

Once seconds of inactivity had ticked by, a soft laugh came forth from Sano. "You, uh, wanna chop up the rest too, old man? Or…" he'd begun strategically rubbing himself against Saito in a most titillating manner, "should we finish this later?"

"Always trying to get out of work, aren't you?" The words, though abrasive on their own, had fallen with amusement from Saito and he finally backed off, giving a healthy smack to Sano's rear. "Get to it. We'll see about your ideas for later after dinner."

Fond memories from that evening reverberated into the present like ripples expanding in the ocean of time, and Saito once more found himself with the same sense of gratification now. More and more, Sano's presence affected him in this way, and though it had taken time to adjust to, Saito couldn't exactly confess that he minded.

He took a draw on his cigarette, continuing to ignore perusal of the daily headlines in favor of peering over the page his attention had abandoned some minutes ago. Contrary to the popular idiom, he'd never thought the grass greener in another yard; however, Saito had begun to consider that was perhaps because he'd never seen Sano idling about on any of his neighbors' properties. For certainly, in his own kitchen, the scenery was always prettier beyond that other edge of the table when he was present.

Sano had a peculiar talent for sliding himself into long-vacant spaces and blending in as if he'd always been there. This very house, for instance, had adequately served just one for several years, and now, after a short time by comparison, Saito found growing discomfort in the absence of Sano's company. The space was too empty and too silent without him.

On the nights they spent apart, he sought comfort from the eerie stillness by visiting an old comrade that had never let him down before: a humble bowl of soba. Served where, it never mattered. But Saito had learned quickly enough that even his ever-reliable consolation meal was a poor replacement for the human personification of sunshine. Soba could never be prodded to argue over something ridiculous or evoke emotion within him, never enticed the corners of his mouth into a soft grin or filled his chest with an ambiguous sense of warmth. Now, Sano, on the other hand…

The ash that had accumulated at the end of his cigarette went ignored as Saito continued his silent admiration. Sano ate too quickly and focused exclusively on his meal, either not knowing or caring about being watched, or the rice sticking to the left edge of his lip.

Audacious, impudent, offensive…on occasion, uncultured and downright rude. Yet, more than any of that, he'd become irreplaceable and invaluable, and for as loud as he was when present, the echoes of his absence were far more deafening.

It was fascinating that this brash individual had managed to seamlessly integrate himself into Saito's life and routine without even trying—fascinating that, for all the time they did spend together, it never felt enough. But searching for the answer to why was one of the few inquiries in the world that Saito was willing to forego.

And when that thought entered his mind, fate seemed to be at play once again, as it was the exact moment when Sano finally decided to glance up. Novels must have been spoken by Saito's eyes when Sano's met his, because their gazes locked and though he felt he should have, he hadn't looked away.

A few seconds of quiet drifted by as Sano finished chewing. "Ne…" he started, the gentle tone doubtlessly in response to the sudden uncharacteristic softness Saito felt he wore, which would prompt discomforting questions and conversation. Sano blinked. His mouth opened...and then pointed in the direction of Saito's half-finished dinner. "You gonna eat that?"

Exhaling through his nose, Saito's lashes fell.

 _Unbelievable_.

He merely shook his head, but whether he was shaking it at Sano or himself, Saito hadn't been sure. There was one thing that had been certain, however: for better or worse, he was in love with a shameless idiot who was capable of eating him out of house and home…who clung to him at night like an octopus…who laid his head in his lap while he read in the sitting room and distracted him by talking about nonsense…who shared his bath and bed and dreams and life.

And these things, so simple and self-indulgent...they were all okay. After all this time, everything here—every feeling, every quiet thought of appreciation, every hope to relive each day like this—was okay.

Saito's eyes opened. "No," he finally answered, picking up his rice bowl and placing it in an eager hand. An equally eager grin widened and though the sky was dark and littered with rhinestones at this hour, sunlight filled the room.

Of the things Saito had lived through during the Bakumatsu and the family he'd lost to it, it seemed unlikely that his life should turn out this way. But there were promises to keep and duties to fulfill and gifts to be grateful for.

 _On a hill overlooking the gleam of Edo Bay, they stood doleful before Commander Kondo's grave._

" _Hijikata-fukucho...If protecting his honor is keeping you from going north...I will remain here in Aizu as your sword. What are your orders?_ "

 _Hands pressed to him and turned him, then fell on his shoulders and gave a firm shake._ " _Live a life full enough for all of us, Saito_."

Sano slammed the bowl down in a clamor and threw his head back with a satisfied groan. Rubbing his stomach, he whooped and slouched back onto an elbow. "Old man, I'm tellin' ya! You can _cook_!" His chin fell. "I'm just saying, okay. If you keep making dinner like this, you'll never get rid of me." He slapped his hand against the tatami for emphasis. "I will literally _never_ go away."

With a snort, Saito gave the newspaper a firm shake and lifted it again. "Good to know, aho." He didn't elaborate on why the information was useful, or if he'd employ it to keep or oust Sano...but when the lower half of his face was concealed, Saito allowed the corners of his lips to ease upward.

Sano would just have to figure out its meaning when he saw the extent of the dinner they would have tomorrow—and each day thereafter.

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Many thanks for reading!


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